Black fine line script reading sogni d'oro on the back of a neck, with a red and navy plaid collar below.

Sogni d'oro script on the nape

Fine line · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A small black script tattoo reading sogni d'oro sits on the back of a neck, above a red and navy plaid collar. The thin, even linework is set in a black and white photograph against a dark background with the hair pulled up. The lettering is centred and compact, with the composition focused closely on the tattoo.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The big top had been folded for the winter and the animals sent to a farm outside Ashford, so only the caravans were left, parked in a frosted field near Maidstone like a row of tired teeth. Nonna Pia counted the lamps every night before she let herself sleep. Tonight there were eleven. The twelfth, the one over the wardrobe wagon, had gone dark again, and she made a note of it in the margin of the ledger where the numbers no longer added up.

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Her grandson Luca, nine years old and certain he was a trapeze artist, sat on the caravan step with a cold tin of peaches and a spoon. "Papà says we're finished," he said. She did not look up from the sequins she was unpicking from a costume that had belonged to a strongwoman called Greta, who had died in 1961 with her shoulders still broad as doors. "Your father says a great many things before breakfast."

She set the sequins down and wrote two words on the back of a torn playbill, in the looping hand her own mother had used over every cot in the Naples carriage. Sogni d'oro. Luca tried to say them and got the vowels wrong, and she let him. Golden dreams, she told him, were not wishes for the morning. They were what you left in the pocket of a child so that the child had something to spend when the road ran out.

In the morning the wagons pulled out one by one, the dark lamp swinging on its hook. Luca pressed his palm to the back window until the field was gone. Nonna Pia tucked the playbill into the tin with the sequins, pressed the lid shut, and hung the tin on the nail beside the door, where the first light would find it.

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